


"Al Di La"

by My_Alter_Ego



Category: White Collar
Genre: AU, Gen, Good Intentions, Shared Confidences, Taking a Risk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 20:43:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13888782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Alter_Ego/pseuds/My_Alter_Ego
Summary: Peter asks Neal for a favor, and the con man wonders if Reese Hughes would approve.





	"Al Di La"

Peter was giving Neal a ride home to his loft on Riverside Drive after a long tedious paperwork day at the Bureau office. FBI agent and CI had been working together for almost two years now, and they finally seemed to have established an amicable and comfortable comradery. For the most part, those early days of suspicion and distrust seemed to be behind them, so they tended to be more open and honest with each other—usually. Of course, there was the occasional hiccup, just like in the best of relationships, when they reverted to type. That was just the nature of the beast.

"Neal, I'd like to ask a favor," Peter began as he drove somewhat perilously through the congested New York streets. "Actually, it's more of a request," he added as Neal gripped the overhead strap when Peter abruptly cut off a cab and brakes screeched alarmingly behind them.

When his breathing returned to normal and he could unclench his teeth, Neal cut his eyes briefly in Peter's direction. "When you say _request_ , is that a euphemism for giving me an _order_?"

"Well, not exactly," Peter equivocated, but failed to elaborate.

Neal now peered at Peter with a wary expression. "Peter, you know that attempting to be elusively clever falls solidly in my bailiwick. You suck at being mysterious, so just spit it out, Buddy."

"Okay, okay," Peter finally responded. "Here's the deal. Hughes is giving his wife a birthday dinner party in a few weeks. El is coordinating the whole affair, and we'd like you to attend."

Neal looked incredulous. "Peter, please—you know that I'm Hughes' least favorite person at the office. He merely tolerates my presence in his hallowed halls because of you. If I crashed his wife's little soiree, I can just feel the imprint of his shoe on my ass. What were you thinking?"

Peter shrugged his shoulders as he glided into a curbside spot on Riverside Drive. "I was thinking that you could be part of the entertainment. El and I have heard you sing, and you’re very talented."

Neal gave Peter a droll look. "Nope—no can do, Peter. I sing when and if I damn well please, and it most certainly won't be to earn my supper."

“It’s really not going to be some big shindig, Neal,” Peter wheedled as he began his argument. “And it’s not as if you’re going to have to sing arias at the Met. The guest list is probably less than a hundred people, and most are family members and close friends of Hughes and his wife, Maria.”

Neal dug his heels in. “I think this qualifies as overstepping the bounds of your authority over your CI, Peter. I am respectfully declining to participate in this extracurricular activity. End of story!”

Peter sighed. “Well, maybe if you heard about the circumstances surrounding this _request_ , you’d be a bit more flexible in your attitude.”

“Not likely!” Neal quickly responded, but he had to admit that his curiosity had been aroused. Con men like to know every little tidbit about their nemeses, especially if one particular nemesis was the big boss at the FBI.

Peter sighed. “Look, Buddy, not many people are aware of certain things—at least not at the Bureau. So, you’ll need to swear to keep what I’m about to tell you between us. And, above all, do not let Reese Hughes know that I’ve shared this personal information with you.”

Neal looked at Peter suspiciously. “That sounds intriguing,” he finally admitted. “You must be hanging around me too much, Peter, ‘cause you really know how to bait the hook.”

“So, do I have your word, Neal? You’ll listen and keep things under that fedora of yours?”

“Okay, sure,” Neal eventually agreed. “Even if inquiring torturers stick bamboo slivers under my fingernails, my lips are sealed. However, that does not mean that I’ll go along with your _request_.”

“Fair enough,” Peter said as he tried to tactfully find the right words. He knew that he would be betraying a confidence, but, really, it was for the greater good. And he did believe that Neal would be discrete. The man sitting beside him had more secrets than the CIA. So, Peter patiently began to spool out the story.

“I’ve known Hughes and his wife for a very long time. When I was just starting out at the New York Bureau, Reese took an interest in me and became a sort of mentor. There were many nights when I was a guest in his home. Maria Hughes was always a warm and gracious hostess. She’s of Italian descent and would make traditional ethnic dishes from scratch while vintage crooners like Dean Martin, Perry Como, and Jerry Vale sang their Italian love songs as background music. Then she’d pull out well-worn photograph albums after dinner and tell me family stories of what she referred to as ‘The Old Country.’

As the saga goes, Maria and Reese met when they were very young. Maria was just 19 years old and fresh off the boat from her native Sicily. A naïve and trusting girl, she was coming to live with extended family in New York. Apparently, it was love at first sight, and after a whirlwind courtship, the moonstruck pair married just months later. Like all young couples, they struggled during those early years to acquire a home and raise their children on a shoestring budget. Eventually, Hughes climbed the ladder in government service and things became a bit better economically. However, his various positions came with a lot of responsibilities that demanded almost all his time. Even though he had promised that he would one day take his wife back to Italy for a visit, it was something that was always put on the back burner as a venture for ‘down the road.’

Well, ‘down the road’ never came because there were always other priorities. For decades, life for Maria was all about New York City, and, as the years flew by, she busied herself being a loving wife and mother. Eventually, that role expanded to becoming a grandmother to a passel of grandchildren. But Maria always had her memories of the small town where she was raised. Unfortunately, now those poignant memories are all that she has because she has difficulty holding on to new ones.”

Neal had been listening closely and suddenly knew that he wasn’t going to like hearing the rest of this story.

“There’s not going to be a ‘happily ever after’ for this lady, is there?” he astutely remarked with a degree of dread.

“No,” Peter agreed, “there’s not. Reese told me that Maria has been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. The physicians have mentioned various drugs that are now available to slow down the degenerative process in the brain, but they cannot stop the progression. Reese says that Maria loses a little more of the here and now each day. As is peculiar to this disease, short-term memory is the first to become hazy while long-term memories seem to remain intact the longest. Reese wants to do this birthday celebration while Maria still recognizes her extended family that includes brothers, sisters, nephews, nieces, and cousins. He says it’s her swan song before they all become strangers to her. He also knows that one day, he’ll be a stranger as well.”

Neal’s face took on a sober expression as he finally responded. “Maybe that ‘down the road’ time is now. Why doesn’t Hughes take his wife on a trip back to Sicily to fulfill that promise that he made to her a long time ago?”

“He’s thought of that,” Peter answered softly, “and even discussed it with her neurologist. He was advised that it is most therapeutic for Alzheimer’s patients to follow a familiar routine in their own surroundings. Taking an extended overnight flight to a country in another time zone might cause Maria undue anxiety and stress. And think about it, Neal. It’s been over half a century since she has seen her home town in Italy. There’s no way that it has been preserved in amber. It’s going to look different—most likely modernized with new buildings and streets. The doctor claims that may be very difficult for Maria to comprehend and process, and she could become fearfully agitated or deeply depressed.

So, Reese is taking another route—ergo, the birthday dinner. El initially thought it would be a nice touch to have a little combo play show tunes. However, after she met with Maria, she, too, got to hear those old Italian singers and was treated to glimpses of those photo albums. My wife is the one with the epiphany. She thought it would be nice if perhaps you might sing those old ballads for that sweet but fading lady.”

Neal was now silently staring through the windshield of the Taurus. That was not the usual state for a con man who always had a pithy comment or witty remark on the tip of his tongue. That’s because Neal was far away, deeply immersed in his own memories. He was thinking of his fractured past and a mother and father who hadn’t enjoyed a long and devoted marriage that spanned forty plus years. They hadn’t even weathered the “for better or worse” part. When things got tough, his father abandoned his wife and child without a backward glance. He was only looking out for number one. Maybe his mother had then sought solace in the kinder, sunnier days of their lives together. Neal would never know where her mind had finally taken refuge because she never invited him in. It had hurt then, and it still hurt even though he was a grown man. It seemed as if human beings were all prisoners of their pasts in some fashion because those experiences helped to shape children into what they ultimately became as adults.

“Neal?” Peter asked tentatively when the quiet dragged on.

The young man seemed to jolt in his seat when wrenched back to the present. Finally, he murmured softly, “Okay, I’ll do it,” while continuing to stare straight ahead. Right now, Neal couldn’t let his partner see the angst in his eyes from his brief moments of introspective reverie.

~~~~~~~~~~

Over the next few days, Peter made himself refrain from nagging Neal about his promise. In his heart, the FBI agent knew that when the young man gave you his word, he kept it. Elizabeth, with her sixth sense, knew that Peter was a bit worried, so she took pity on him and reassured her husband that she and Neal were collaborating. “Don’t worry, Hon, everything will go well.”

Finally, the Saturday night of the party rolled around. El had left early to coordinate everything at an intimate Italian restaurant in the city. Much later in the evening, Peter walked down some flagstone steps to a cozy cellar grotto where a small trio of violins and a snare drum were playing softly. It was cocktail hour, and guests were milling around a small parquet floor sipping glasses of robust red Valpolicella and Chianti, and crisp white Soave Bolla. He quickly spotted Reese Hughes and his wife. Peter marveled at Reese’s tact. Before he and Maria approached a guest, the wily old FBI man would discretely whisper their name into his wife’s ear. If a couple sauntered up, Hughes would immediately greet them by name so that Maria could hear. The long-married couple worked the room as a team, and Peter smiled fondly as he watched Hughes protect his lady.

Before long, it was time to claim a seat for the dinner. Hughes gave Peter the two-finger summons, and he now found himself once more at Hughes’ side. The meal was traditional Italian fare—aromatic, spicy and filling. Of course, Hughes complimented the food, but Peter heard him whisper to Maria, “It’s good, Sweetheart, but it doesn’t hold a candle to your sauce.” She beamed at him with love in her eyes.

At the appropriate time, strong coffee was poured, and a large cannoli cake materialized from the kitchen. Like a child, Maria Hughes clapped her hands in delight as she saw the chunky wax candles on top—two fat sixes with flickering wicks burning gaily. There was a round of applause when she blew them out, followed by the traditional “Happy Birthday” rendition.  As waiters efficiently commenced doling out slices of the sweet confection to the myriad of tables, a certain person deigned to quietly make his appearance.

Reese Hughes’ eyes narrowed in surprise and annoyance when he saw Neal stroll out from the kitchen attired in a sharp tuxedo. He started to rise from his seat, but Peter stayed his action by a firm hand on his forearm and a slight shake of his head. Wary and tightly wound, Hughes finally relented and settled back into his chair. However, that didn’t stop the old man from watching Neal like a hawk as the CI made his move.

Neal glided towards Hughes’ table, and, with a slight bow, presented Maria with a perfect yellow rose. A con man who wasn’t a con man that night wondered if this lost lady, who was traveling down an unfamiliar road, was aware of the language of roses. The color “yellow” signified remembrance. He hoped that tonight she would remember and find happiness and some measure of peace.

Maria looked confused at first, probably thinking that she should know this handsome young man, but she couldn’t seem to dredge up even an inkling of who he was. It didn’t really matter; it was but a brief moment between two souls. Neal smiled softly and turned away to take a position atop a high wooden stool that had miraculously appeared in the center of the room. He picked up a hand-help microphone from it’s seat, and that was the cue for the musicians to begin the strains of _“Three Coins in a Fountain.”_

Neal’s eyes had locked onto Maria’s from the first words of the familiar Italian song. It was as if there wasn’t anyone else in the room as his sweet tenor voice caressed her and her, alone. He watched her expression of confusion transform to one of pure joy. As the last note of the melody faded away, he then vocally slid into _“O Solo Mio,"_   followed by _“Cara Mia,”_ _“More,”_ and _“Volare.”_

Of course, the audience was enthralled by this very talented young man with such an extraordinary gift. However, Neal took no notice of the assembled guests and their admiring stares. Maria had become his world, and he was gratified to see her look of confusion turn to one of beatific pleasure. Her eyes shone brightly, and her expression was radiant. She tenderly leaned into her husband when Neal sang the love song, _“Innamorata,”_ as sweetly and passionately as Jerry Vale had done in the 1950s. When Neal followed that up with the very beautifully haunting, _“Al Di La,”_ Hughes surprised everybody by taking his wife’s hand and leading her carefully out onto the miniscule dance floor.

Neal’s lyrics wrapped them in a soft cocoon as they slowly waltzed before him—the steps not yet forgotten, but a result of muscle memory from long ago.

_Al di la, I wondered as I drifted where you were_

_Al di la, the fog around me lifted, there you were_

_In the kiss that I gave was the love I had saved for a lifetime_

_Then I knew all of you was completely mine._

As the last syllable faded and the small audience began to applaud, Neal slipped away like a wisp of smoke. Peter immediately trailed him into the kitchen where everyone from apron-clad chefs to soapy-handed dishwashers were smiling happily. The FBI agent caught his wife giving Neal a chaste peck on the cheek, and he added his own gratitude.

“You did good, Neal.”

Peter had captured Neal’s attention for only a second. Now the tuxedoed CI was staring past him to where Reese Hughes stood awkwardly.

“Caffrey—Neal,” he began earnestly, “I want to thank you for what you did tonight. You have no idea what it meant to my wife. And to me,” he finally admitted.

The young man saw so many things when he looked into the old man’s eyes—melancholy, wistfulness, sorrow, and vulnerability. It was true that Hughes was a hard man, but Neal wisely suspected that hard men were more likely to shatter when they fell.

So, the con man allowed a little smile to form at the corners of his mouth as he answered in a sincere tone, “You are very welcome, Agent Hughes. It was my pleasure to bring your lovely wife happiness for a little while tonight.”

Hughes gave a curt nod. For perhaps the first time since Neal Caffrey had swanned into the FBI Bureau office wearing tight pants and a tracking anklet, the old man realized there were hidden depths to this enigma of a man. He could be manipulative, even deceitful, but another facet of his personality had been laid bare tonight. This sometimes-infuriating young man had a truly good heart. Now, the crusty old FBI veteran was just as determined as Peter Burke to keep him around and to keep him safe.


End file.
